


Sedimentary

by IlloustriousTaco



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Kinda, M/M, Tall Sandy, Temporary Character Death, Which is now a synonym for creeper!Sandy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-07 03:44:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IlloustriousTaco/pseuds/IlloustriousTaco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After he "died", Sandy discovered Pitch's deepest, brightest secret, and decided that he wanted it for his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Yea... apparently I ship this now. I totally blame Esperage and their story Faint Young Sun for this. 
> 
> Written as a drabble to lift my mind from unfathomable depression, later chapters may contain dub-con, but the first one should be safe. 
> 
> Don't be shy with comments please?

Sad. Somehow, there should have been more emotion there, betrayal or anger or yes, even fear, but all Sandy felt was sad as the black arrow pierced him, the shadows spreading along glittering sand turning it from golden to ebony much to the horror of the other guardians. 

He could feel himself being absorbed into the shadows, but he hadn't been around the metaphorical block only to be taken out by this. It was after all, a part of himself, however twisted by the fear that the Nightmare King so did love and to die like this would be preposterous. At the same time, he would need rest to get back up to strength and emerge from his sudden and unexpected incarceration. Since the 'nightmare sand' was so intricately tied to Pitch, he could feel the mans glee at having 'killed' Sandy, and his designs on the winter sprite which was simply foolish all things considered. 

Why go after the Frost boy when Sandy was right here, already nestled deeply into these delightful shadows, his body glittering darkly as much as it ever sparkled brightly. The shadows were indeed delightful to play in, and he had been getting tired, so very tired for longer than he had even been on earth and it was restful to simply drift and be for a little while even if he was trapped for now within Pitch Black. There was almost a spark of anger at that, if Pitch had only asked had come to Sandy they could have worked together, bringing all manner of dreams and yes even nightmares to children all around the world, healthy ones even that wouldn't violate Sandy's vows and would teach the children instead of traumatizing them. That way led to a spiral out of balance and the destruction of both light and shadows. It would have been a relief to share the duty of giving dreams to all the children, would have let Sandy keep just a bit more of his strength for himself and the things he wanted, yearned for and dreamed of. 

But anger had never come easily to this wishing star, not even when he threaded through the black sand instead of his more usual brightly golden dream sand. 

Time was meaningless right now, and there was nothing to do but wait and regain his strength, much like sleeping but without the absolute unconsciousness of it. Threading through the darkness though, glittering playfully through the shadows and fearlings, Sandy noticed something where they were gathered thickest, at the core of the being that was the Nightmare King. 

Curious, the wishing star moved closer, wondering what the shadows were doing here, and the nightmare sand slipped between them, working its way into cracks and crevices the way that sand always did. 

The core smothered by shadows was almost blinding even to Sandy, like a balm to glittering joy, a reminder to the remaining thoughts of the sandman that he had chosen to be bright, chosen to illuminate the good dreams of the children of this world to combat the darkness currently smothering this beautiful light. Angry, Sandy lashed out, trying to push the shadows away, only to realize in dismay that they were feeding on it, bunching up tighter here for that reason alone and eventually even that beautiful light was going to give out. 

The most painful part was that there was nothing Sandy could do from here to prevent it. He could understand all too well why the shadows and fearlings were feasting on that light, even with only tendrils of it reaching him through the cracks he had infiltrated, he could feel its strength in him, bolstering his own strength and adding too it. It felt good, really good and Sandy found himself all too covetous of it. 

It was going to be his, but he couldn't claim it from here. They couldn't hurt him, not in this form, or even keep him out of everything, but at the same time he couldn't get those horrid shadows away from his light. 

Nearly growling as he made his choice, Sandy withdrew from the light, bolstered, and turned the majority of his attention outwards, back to where Pitch was trying once more to overcome the other guardians. He must have realized that something was wrong within himself as well, and Sandy was giddy with amusement as he realized that even just basking in that light had thinned the shadows enough, barely enough, that the oppresive atmosphere the Boogieman had been fostering with his shadows was weakened. It gave North and the others the advantage, and they were doing well. 

But it was time for Sandy to step up, and calling the particles of himself together in swirling golden light, Sandy was ready to emerge into the world once more. 

Strong hands wrapped around Pitch's wrists, Sanderson's beatific face beaming as he solidified, the wishing star's eyes glinting with an inner fire and vitality that he hadn't had in a very long time. 

Gone was the pudgy, small balloon like form that he had adopted at whim, insufficient to contain the power welling up in him and the desire to do something about that glorious core smothered undeservedly in shadow. In it's place, Sanderson was tall, as tall as Pitch at least, and limber though there was still a softness to his face and form that simply didn't exist in the villainous shadow. 

“S... Sanderson?” Terror in Pitch's voice, making the wishing star give his silent laugh as he wrapped whips of golden sand around the shadow, binding arms to torso and legs to each other before throwing the dark being into the air. Oh he wanted that brightness at the core, but he was still very upset with the shadows surrounding it, and that was all that was there right now. 

“Sandman?” The voice was young, full of wonder and awe, and Sanderson grinned, turning to where the other guardians and a group of human children were watching him. With much amusement, he formed a golden bowler hat, tipping it to all of them with half a bow of introduction. The flabbergasted looks on the faces of most of the guardians were hilarious, Bunnymund's face being the only one not completely gobsmacked, but then the Pooka had known him much longer than the other Guardians. 

The cleanup of the rest of the nightmares was from there very simple, and Sanderson put a hefty dose of Dreamsand into Pitch to keep the Shadowking docile until he could get to him. It only took a few moments while the Frost boy had everyone distracted to stuff Pitch into a dream cloud and tether that where it would be out of the way. In the euphoria of winning the battle, no one seemed to notice that the Nightmare King was missing, and that suited Sanderson's purpose just fine.


	2. Chapter 2

Sanderson was impatient to get back to where he had tethered Pitch, trapped in a warm globe of glowing sand and floating where the others wouldn't stumble upon him easily. He meant to get back to the Boogieman before he awakened, but that would be a finite amount of time considering that his powers didn't work the same way on immortals as they did on humans. The Boogieman might already be awake or he might not wake until Sanderson wiped the dreamsand out of his eyes personally. 

Oh well, it didn't matter that much, the Nightmare king wasn't going anywhere at all enveloped as he was in Sanderson's power. 

The celebration for winning, sending the children back to their homes, scattering a few Easter eggs here and there to assuage Aster's guilt over the previous day, the failed Easter. There would be more repair that had to be done, and Tooth, Jack and North would all be helping in their own ways to restore faith in the Pooka. Sanderson chortled to himself as he thought about telling the lagomorph how he was planning to help, with sweet dreams of happy Easters, but it was going to be pushing the boundaries already on what was 'allowed' with his powers as a guardian. Not that that usually stopped him, but he had to be careful not to let anyone know what he was doing with things like this. 

Children all over the world would be getting good dreams about a happy Easter, and hopefully Aster could live up to the renewed hype next year. 

But that was neither here nor there, and Sanderson put it out of his mind as he returned to where Pitch was safely tethered. When he got there he was most displeased with what he found. Inside of his prison of dreamsand, Pitch was whimpering and moaning, nightmares feasting on him and the fearlings dancing on his skin. There were teeth and claws and for a moment Sanderson saw red, golden whips snapping out to tame the errant creatures that dared get unruly under him. 

Whips of light frightened Nightmares, driving them back harshly but without much malice they were after all only dreams from the darkness. The fearlings did not get it so easy, whips of light viciously tearing through them where they crawled on Pitch's skin, scouring the dark shadows away ruthlessly. When he was finished, the nightmares driven out of the dreamsand cage and the surface shadows scoured away by Sanderson's power, all that was left was Pitch Black.

A very pale, gray Pitch Black who apparently formed his clothes out of his shadows in much the same way that Sanderson formed his clothes out of his dreamsand for he was laying fully exposed. It wasn't very pleasing between the deep gashes, blistering bruises, and obvious teeth marks that marred the otherwise appealing form, much more solid than Sanderson's own self paradigm. Sandy's body was made of belief and will, belief from anyone who had a good dream regardless of his involvement or indeed if they had ever even heard of him, and hid own will on what he would look like. Nevertheless, sustaining good dreams on a consistent and reliable basis drained almost all of the power he got back from it, and what wasn't drained away had to be hoarded, carefully saved so that he could have just a little bit of energy to pursue his own dreams and hopes.

The sand man licked his lips, grinning again before wrapping the Nightmare King tightly in his golden dreamsand, like a tethered balloon following him as he made his way to the entrance of his dream castle. It was a smaller, seldom used and more seldomly upgraded castle. Unlike North's workshop, Tooth's palace, and Bunnymund's warren, Sanderson rarely used this place, usually far too busy to get a chance to return here since he had essentially a twenty four hour a day job, similar to Tooth's as he followed night around the globe to ensure good dreams. 

The castle was the remains of the ship that had bought him to this planet ironically dragged in and injured by the very shadow being he was carrying inside with him. He paused before he headed inside, one golden hand touching the doorway fondly before he headed for the bedroom. 

Sanderson had work to do.

* * *

The inner shadows wouldn't be nearly so easy to corral and it would take a long time to get them cleared out enough for that light to shine brightly again. It would also take using aspects of his power in a distinctly forbidden way in order to clear the shadows enough for that glorious light to shine bright again. With the stakes lower, Sanderson wouldn't ever use this aspect of his power on himself, though he had weighed the pros and cons of doing this for others before. It had never been worth it, transferring the mind and soul of one into the dreams of another was a death sentence for humans since their cores were too flexible or perhaps not flexible enough, and for immortals... well it had never come up with someone he cared for enough to risk his guardianship and indeed his life for. Yet he found himself preparing for just that as he arranged Pitch Black on his bed. 

For the first, if Man in Moon discovered what he was doing, he would definitely be removed from his position as a guardian, and there was a good chance he would be declared corrupted and either imprisoned or executed. It would be harder for the others to guard the children, but that might be something that MiM would be willing to do. Dreams would run their courses on their own, though without Sanderson's influence they wouldn't be as strong or long lasting, so he thought his concerns quite well founded. 

If things worked out the way that he wanted them to though, it was a price he would gladly pay again and again. 

More importantly though, it was dangerous, even to immortals, especially for the one initiating the transference to be in it. There was no other way though, it wasn't like he could just push his power in until he reached the light and pulled it out. He might have been able to do just that if he had retained the dark nightmare sand form, but his bright sands of light? They would be devoured too quickly by the shadows pushing inwards and trying to feed. 

No, he had to go in and do this the hard way, and he was looking forward to it, very much so. After all, what's the use of having a forbidden power if it didn't get dusted off every once in a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aster is closer in form to a leporidae, not a pika,(families) but people are more familiar with lagomorph,(order) so...
> 
> Okay... just, dayum. In examining his motivations I've come to realize that my Sandy is a selfish little bastard when it all comes down to it. He loves the other guardians, and he likes and enjoys the company of other spirits, but if it comes down to something he wants or something he just likes... well, I'm just glad that he really enjoys giving out good and wondrous dreams. 
> 
> As for the talk of Slender!Sandy, its going to be next chapter. :3


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *flops down dead* it beat me up... I think I edited it pretty good as I went through, but my head hurts from the way I wrote it and I need to sleep... hopefully it lives up to expectation now I need to go to work. erm... please please let me know what you think of it. I've never done something this way before.

The bell rings as he walks in, the attendant looking up from where he was wiping the counter with a smile that lit the whole room. It's an expression that's not reciprocated as he places his order. It takes indeterminable minutes for the order to be filled, the bagel cut and toasted, the coffee brewed in silence and the milk steamed to the appropriate, comercialized temperature. The whole time he ignores the golden grin of the barrista and the offer of friendly company, prefering to keep cold and distant. When his meal is ready he simply takes the bag and leaves, the bell heralding his exit as it had his entrance. 

He runs through the shadows, ice in his veins as he looks for anywhere to hide, he can't stop though or he'll be caught. Rough stone stalagmites provide obstacles for him to dodge, but at least they keep him from having to look at the creature pursuing him. It doesn't move the way anything should move, one minute he knows it's behind him close enough to feel it's breath on his neck while in the next moment, it's stepping out from behind a stalagmite not far in front of him and if he doesn't change direction, look away anything, then it will come for him. 

The halls are dead and cold, a right mess that needs to be put back to rights, otherwise he'll lose his job. He's been slacking though, it's not a job he's particularly attached to cleaning up behind people who don't care at the messes they're making for him. It wouldn't be so bad if they weren't so derogatory about it, woudln't tell him it was useless and that he didn't earn what little he made here. It doesn't matter though, there's nowhere else for him at this point. 

Her smile is a balm to his heart and it feels like they're been seperated by millenia instead of the few short weeks he had been at his new post, getting everything ready. It was lonely work, and he missed her every breath he as away, but he knows she understands because she's good that way. He writes her as often as he can though there's literally nothing to report and he receives her letters with a spark of joy in his heart. When he hears her voice, how can he help but give up everything to try to save her?

It's raining when the bell rings today, and he forgot his umbrella so he's more sour than usual as he drips water onto the floor while he makes his way to the counter. The barrista simply gives a knowing grin that makes him want to strangle the young man while he places his order, and he's even shorter tempered than usual sarcasm and a razor's edge to his voice. He's been waiting a moment, apparently there aren't supplies for his simple breakfast, when a warm towel settles on his shoulders and he looks up in surprise to that bright smile. He accepts the towel, and gets himself dried off enough that he feels better at least. When he's handed an umbrella with his breakfast he doesn't know what to do at first, but some tiny niggle deep inside of him prompts him to say thank you. The bell rings as he leaves too, accompanied by the drum of rain on the tight nylon of the umbrella. 

It gets darker and darker, the lights flickering and the halls cast in shadow hiding some of the grime and buildup of muck, but he hasn't been fired yet. It seems like they're actually happy with the way that he's doing things because the only time he's seen them smile is when they're telling him how badly he's doing. If he had any spirit left, he would get the job done just to spite them, but he's too tired and too worn down to bother. 

He has to run, he has to hide but there's nowhere safe to hide so he has to run. The trees are thick but the underbrush sparse and he keeps catching glimpses of gold out of the corner of his eye. It's so tempting to just look at it and find out once and for all what's following him, but that way lies certain madness, and perhaps even death. He's sure that after a time he'll look forward to that proposition, but for now he would much prefer to look for a way out, a way to keep himself sane. 

No one knows how long it will take for the experiment to run its course, but they all watch eagerly as the principals laid out hundreds of years ago are finally tested. This will be a momentous day for everyone involved, a day that will go down in the history books as the greatest day in the history of the world. There's something wrong though, and all of the men gathered around the viewing port realize it as they feel the tremor of the first shock wave, it shouldn't have made it out this far. Their confusion only lasts for a moment before the light hits. The pain only lasts a moment as well. 

The sky is still over cast as the bell rings, but he doesn't hesitate to set the umbrella down on the counter, hesitating before he places his order. He wonders if he should say something, but the cheerful grin on the barrista's face is enough to keep him silent for now. The bell rings again as he walks out, ignoring the suddenly hurt look on the others face when he doesn't wait for his order to be finished. 

She's crying, and it hurts because it's his fault, never mind that it wasn't his choice to take this new assignment. If he wasn't so successful, then he wouldn't have been chosen for this honor. It matters that she's sad, and there's little he can do to change that before he's gone from her life again. He knows, somewhere deep inside, that he'll never see her again, the position he's trying so hard to be proud of is as much a lifetime sentence as it is a promotion. Instead of sulking, and bemoaning the fact though, he wipes her tears away, and entreats her to smile. He has to leave soon, but at least they have now together. 

There's someone clasping his hand, and he looks up into a soft, sad smile from where he lays in the filth that has come to block the doors of the hall. It's encouragement, a painful wound as well as a soothing balm. He doesn't even know if he has the strength to get the job done any more, he's wasted away so badly and the buildup is so thick it might never come clean even if he were up to full strength. The firm grip on his hand is enough to draw him up from where he's been wallowing though, and he grants that it can't hurt to at least find somewhere to start. 

He's running out of strength now, he can't keep this up much longer. The trees have thinned, but the underbrush is more pronounced now. That makes it harder and harder to escape the thing that is following him, especially when it gets in front of him and there's no way to turn aside, and no possible way to go back the way he came. It's frightening, but some how he knows that while it's bad, it's not the worst and that pushes him to dredge up the last few shreds of strength and keep running. 

The sky is bright today when the bell rings, and that bright smile is waiting for him, a cheerful buffer against the insanity of the world. He lingers today, after all there's nowhere he really needs to be, though there's no real reason holding him here either. The cheerful grin on the barrista's face is what drives him away again some time later, and the bell rings again. 

Her voice is soothing after months away fighting to protect everything she held dear. She'll never know the choices he made to keep her safe and healthy and he knows that deep down she resents some of them but he's proud. She's strong enough to look past it and keep him grounded when he comes home, and he knows its a terrible burden and he's just an old war monger now, but she's always there for him, and he'll always be there for her. 

The halls aren't clean yet, but most of the surface debris have been cleared away and he can get started on the accumulated grime. That encouraging hand is still there, helping him and soothing him in turn when he's frustrated and simply too tired to go on, or too scared. He hasn't been allowed to give up again, but at least he's being praised for his work now instead of scorned, and it makes a difference. The longer he works, the less exhausted he is though there are still times when weariness will pull him down. He's never down for long. 

The ravine catches him by surprise and he tumbles down almost head first. His entire body aches, muscles are sprained and at least a few bones are broken. He can't keep running like this, and as fear consumes him he doesn't have more than the strength to sob quietly. Since he can't run any more, he closes his eyes, curling as best as he can into himself. The terror he feels when golden arms wrap around him make him cry out, and scream. 

There's a crowd when the bell rings today, he didn't expect that but there's no getting around it. At least four people are ahead of him, bantering and playing with one another. A tittering blond woman has her arm wrapped around a tall man who looks like a hells angel gone wrong, while a tall man with a heavy accent makes fun of a cheerful child with white hair. They're taking so long that he considers leaving, but then the barista looks up and smiles at him a calm, soft smile that has been just for him since he first started coming here and he waits. He has nowhere better to go after all. When the bell rings again the others have been gone a while. 

She's screaming and in pain, and it's his fault. He cant control his actions and he wants desperately to stop, but his long fingers are curled around her neck choking the life out of her even as she pleads with him, calls out to him to wake up. He can't, he's far too lost now. 

He's huddled against the wall sobbing at what he had found under the grime and grunge. The halls aren't clean yet, but he can't bring himself to keep going, not after finding that. Horror and guilt are overwhelming, but the other is still there, sadder now, comforting him. He doesn't rest for long, he's not allowed to when that kind smile and gentle hands urge him back to work. He can't believe it will ever get better, but something wants him to think that it will. If only for that he'll keep going, because he certainly cant do it for himself. 

Hes warm, cradled safely now though he hasn't opened his eyes yet. He stopped screaming hours or perhaps only minutes ago, but the arms haven't withdrawn from his broken form yet. He sobs confused when he feels lips on the back of his neck, gentle fingers running through his hair. 

When the bell rings today, he's confused that his barista isn't behind the counter. He's expecting a bright cheerful smile but the kid who is back there merely looks over at him bored and waits. He walks out again without bothering to order anything. 

She's gone, she'll never be back, and it hurts, it always has, but he knows that now it can start to fade. He can put it behind him now and let go of all the regrets he feels deep inside. Warm arms wrap around him sweetly, keeping him grounded in the here and now instead of letting him slip away as he was so afraid he was going to. 

He's warm and safe, and he still cries, but the warm hands sooth away his tears and tend to his hurts. 

The hallway is clean now, the horror and grime having been washed away. It's not as bright as it once was, as perfect as it had been, but it's good now, very good. Much better than it had been in forever. He's proud, and he turns to tell the other that, only to stop, stunned. The lovely encouraging smile is gone, and he's alone for now, and it hurts, all he can do is hope that it doesn't last long.

* * *

When he comes to, he finds the Sandman slumped over him, light barely flickering as if the other is exhausted beyond all good reason. He doesn't know how he came to be here, or how he knows this man, but he knows that its not right to leave the other slumped in that uncomfortable position, and he gently pulls the other onto the bed with him, snuggling into the warm golden form as he falls asleep again, hoping that a good rest will clear the labored breathing he can hear rustling softly through the others sandy lips.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Between moving, a severly diminished access to the internet, and writers block (probably owed to exaustion from moving) this chapter took quite a while to get out there...
> 
> I'm hoping it lives up to the expectations created by earlier chapters... it's kinda a little fluffy though and more transitory than I like...

Sanderson's not sure how much time has passed since he finished scouring out the worst of the shadows from inside of his acquisition. In fact, he's not particularly sure he even managed to finish the job or how long it took for him to reach the end of his strength. He doesn't remember falling asleep, which is quite disconcerting for the guardian of dreams because he's always maintained a sense of self awareness especially when he's exhausted. He definitely doesn't remember crawling onto the bed and wrapping himself around the form of Pitch Black who's snuggled into his chest like he's a particularly comfortable body pillow, long limbs tangled with the bright stars own in an appealing contrast of colors and textures. 

Yet here he is, coming back to awareness with the solid body of his once nemesis twined with his own. It has to have been a while, because the gashes and bites from where fearlings and nightmares attacked his prisoner are healed completely, leaving the pale immortal with long expanses of unmarked flesh. Very appealing, especially now that the unhealthy gray pallor is gone, leaving Pitch with a complexion that could now be described as ivory instead of sickly. It was a good change, one Sanderson found himself admiring by trailing his fingers along the others skin, from jaw to hip and back again. 

The former wishing star grinned as he took in the full expanse of the other's form, straight dark hair tousled in his slumber, chest rising and falling with deep, even breaths. Oh the man was far too thin at the moment, skinny instead of slender, but it was hard to fault him for that when he'd been asleep for quite a while now. 

Speaking of time though, Sanderson heaved a silent but large sigh because he should probably check in with the other guardians and make sure that the dreams were continuing as they were supposed to and responsibility was a real drag sometimes but these things would have to be checked on. Grinning, he waited just a few moments more before stroking his hand through Pitch's hair and over his eyes, leaving a generous dusting of dream sand behind. He wouldn't be gone long, and he would bring a meal back for himself and his guest to share when the other man awakened.

* * *

When he awakens alone, he's confused, torn nearly asunder by both the reassurance he feels at the soft golden glow surrounding him, and the terror he feels at the soft golden glow around him so antitheses to what he is. He doesn't move, except to pull the blanket up over himself, though it too is made of the glowing sand. Where he touches it though, thin trailing tendrils of black creep into the blanket, curling and coiling like tiny vines and patterning the blanket like embroidery. 

It's both thrilling and scary for him, and he doesn't know which part of him fears it more, but he curls up under the blankets again, choosing to take a measure of comfort in the fact that he has changed his surroundings in this small way, rather than fear that he has corrupted something pure in doing so. 

It's not until some time later that he hears the soft, very soft sounds of someone else moving around nearby that he uncurls, cautiously looking around. He's shocked by the conflicting emotions that rock him as he catches sight of the tall golden being who has just walked into the room. On one hand, joy and happiness, he knows this bright star and has admired him for a very long time, courageous and cheerful a shining example of what ought to be.

However, on the other hand, this was an enemy, someone who he had worked as hard as he could to undermine and destroy, trying to corrupt and absorb his powers for his own sinister purposes. He hated himself for that. “S... Sanderson...” he said, his voice a dry croak. How long had it been since he last spoke? He shuddered and curled in on himself at the memory of trying to destroy the light, feeling dirty and tainted at the sick delight he had felt at the weakness of the Sandmans allies. It was wrong, he was wrong, he hated what he had been doing, trying to destroy all that was good in the world. He knew exactly what he had been working towards, and thinking back on it now made him ill. He didn't even realize that Sanderson had come closer to him, too busy retching and dry heaving to notice the wishing star until soothing hands rubbed at his back and pulled him into an embrace. 

He pushed away, fighting against it, not daring to relax and enjoy the touch, he didn't deserve this kindness... yet he still found himself clinging to the others dreamsand shirt and watching in horror as a tiny tendril of black sand spread out from his touch.

* * *

Sanderson rubbed soothing circles into Pitch's back, tightening his grip as the other man once more started struggling like a wild thing, pushing away and thrashing wildly. He had very nearly been calm, the Sandman having been able to soothe him out of his dry heaves, but now his struggles were even worse... 

It didn't last long of course, Pitch was still weak and exhausted from the ordeal and he didn't exactly have the belief base that kept Sanderson relatively strong even after such exertions. “S... Sanderson... let... please let me go... I'm...” The words surprised him a little, and he thought about it for a moment before nodding, slowly releasing Pitch and letting the man scoot backwards with the golden and black dream sand blanket and wasn't that a delightful creation that he was going to have to thoroughly admire later. He had left the sandy blankets and pillows on the bed out of habit, because those were things that belonged on a bed, not having bothered to use them himself since he was perfectly comfortable sleeping any way anywhere. 

“I'm sorry...” Pitch said, the missery in his voice bringing Sanderson's attention back to the nightmare king. “I... I didn't mean to...” 

Looking down at himself where the tiniest curl of black sand decorated the front of his shirt, Sanderson grinned brightly, trailing his fingertips over the small mark before clapping delightedly, his odd words forming in the sand above his head as he expressed his joy. Oh he had been cranky before at the corruption of his dream sand, but that had been done without his permission, and before he had discovered that deliciously bright core at the center of the boogyman. 

“I fail to see how you can be so happy about being corrupted by evil...” Pitch said bitterly, and Sanderson laughed his silent laugh, his eyes twinkling as he took in the hunched form of his former nemisis, more sand flashing above his head as he tried to explain that Pitch wasn't evil, though he had been doing a good job of fooling them all this time. “It was no act, I assure you...” 

It took Sanderson a few moments to decypher what the other man said, confused before realizing that Pitch had actually understood his 'words', and he expressed his delight by clapping and speaking again, though he was babbling slightly and he knew it. 

“Well.. yes. Of course I understand you...” Pitch seemed confused as he realized this, and Sanderson chuckled delightedly, floating and twisting in the air since he couldn't contain his emotions. He was upside down when he realized that Pitch was now skulking, and the wishing star's fingers once more traced the scrollwork of black sand on his 'shirt' as he grinned, expressing his delight, and why, because it meant that Pitch was still the Boogeyman, still Sanderson's equal, and Sanderson hadn't harmed him when destroying the fearlings.

“Fearlings? But... that was.. that was me...” Pitch shuddered, a broken sob coming from him and Sanderson was immediately there, wrapping his now long arms around the others shuddering form. He wasn't sure how long it took for the darker man to calm down this time, but he waited until Pitch was calmer before explaining himself. He had destroyed only that which wasn't part of the man, only the shadows crowding and suffocating that bright, glorious core that was the man here and now. 

“The shadows were me....” Pitch protested again, and Sanderson once more chuckled at the other mans protest, shaking his head and placing a gentle, almost platonic kiss against his forehead. He would understand later, but for now, there was food and did Pitch feel up to getting up and going to the 'dining' area or would he like to eat here?

“I... I can get up...” Pitch said, although Sanderson almost missed it as he was distracted by the warm flush of embarrassment across the Nightmare King's pale skin. Sanderson couldn't help himself, his hands seeming to take a life of their own as his fingers brushed over the others jaw, coming to rest cupping the lower part of Pitch's head, thumb gently stroking the mans jaw, his other fingers resting in fine dark hair. Pitch froze, like a deer caught in headlights and even the Sandman could almost feel the sudden spike of fear in him though it only made him grin widely, and state that a little bit of fear could be good... it would keep them on their toes. 

“I.. I don't understand you at all...” Pitch said, shivering as he pulled away, and Sanderson was delighted at how reluctant that single little action seemed to be. “You said... you said something about sustenance?” He asked, and Sanderson laughed his silent laugh before getting up cheerfully and helping Pitch to his feet.

* * *

He scowled, wrapping the blanket around himself when Sanderson pulled him to his feet, reluctant to leave himself uncovered in the Sandman's presence if he didn't have to. He was comfortable around the bright Wishing Star, and it made little sense. His memories all said that he should not be comfortable, he should be either at odds with him or... well older memories said he should be in awe of the bright star. It was all very confusing and he would have appreciated a great deal more time to sort it all out. The Sandman led him to a room that seemed to have no built in purpose, a great window formed of dream sand window seals on one wall looking out over rolling sand dunes and deep blue ocean under a starry sky, but the furniture of the room forming seemingly at a whim as the Sand Man entered. 

“Do you not keep a room for consuming sustinence normally on hand?” He found himself asking, half to make small talk if they could talk small, and half because he was nervous at how Sanderson kept glancing back at him. 

When the answer came that no, because Sanderson didn't usually have guests to feed and he wasn't around enough to require it himself so he just formed his Dream Sand into whatever he needed, now would Pitch sit down and relax he was still recovering. 

He rolled his eyes, scowling at the name that Sanderson was still using for him. “I... I'm feeling much recovered, and much better.” He said scowling and glaring at the Sandman, which only made the golden man laugh at him in his silent way even as he produced a basket from somewhere that he hadn't seen, golden sand plates forming on the table as Sanderson started pulling out bread and fruit, expressing that he wasn't sure that Pitch was going to be awake when he got back so he got things that would be easier to keep if Pitch didn't wake up right away. 

“I didn't stay asleep long I think... What happened? You said something about... the shadows...” He shuddered as he asked, his memory blurry after Sanderson had re-emerged from wherever Sandy had gone when Pitch had shot him with the nightmare sand. 

The Sandman was non-forthcoming for a moment, before he shrugged, grinning brightly as he launched into his explanation. The Sandman had decided to take advantage of the fact that Pitch's defeat had left him weak in order to get rid of the shadows, carefully stripping away the fearlings that had been gathered around Pitch's core. He had tried to keep from harming Pitch in the process, but he hadn't been sure he had left the Nightmare King intact until he had seen the black nightmare sand the other produced. 

He couldn't help it, he started chuckling as Sanderson explained, and it wasn't a happy sound at all. He was barely paying attention at all now to the other immortal, drawing in on himself and he definitely would have fallen out of the chair if the dream sand hadn't changed underneath him, turning into a papasan instead of the chair it started off as. 

It feels as if something inside of him has broken at the explanation that Sanderson has given him, something that had held strong against the shadows for so long, had held up even as the sand man seared the fearlings out of him, destroying the evil shadows once and for all. Iron will and the deep seated necessity to control the shadows was all that had held him together through the horrors he had created, lived through and participated it. It didn't matter that there was always a part of him sickened and horrified at what he was doing, he had guided the shadows into each new horror, or been guided into them. In the end it didn't matter, and he knew his babbling was incoherent, just as he knew that Sanderson both understood each word and the emotions behind them, offering what comfort he could, how he could. 

When he passed out again, he was wrapped in the Sandman's warm arms, the golden being stroking his hair and back.

* * *

“Sandy is hiding something.” North stated, having used other means to summon Tooth, Bunny and Jack, and worry was evident on his features as he turned to them. “Was not seen for weeks then shows up looking so tired... Old friend is hiding something and I do not know what.” 

“I'm sure... I'm sure it isn't that bad... He was probably exhausted by... by his rebirth.” Tooth tried, hovering over Jack's shoulder as she spoke. 

“No... North may have a point. I've known Sandy for a long time and he did seem overly smug when he came to 'check up' on me in the warren. Though I admit I might be over reacting a tad. It's just so strange to see him... looking so different.” 

“Is definitely Sandy though... Man in Moon would say if otherwise. Am still worried... he seems almost... corrupted...” North's voice dropped low as he made the last part of his statement, not wanting to believe that the oldest of the guardians could have been changed by the shadows. 

“Corrupted... aint seen anyone corrupted since the dark ages mate...” Aster said, his voice soft and even at the extremely serious accusation. Becoming corrupted was what made fearlings in the first place as the black energy of them engulfed their prey. Despite their name, the fearlings were not the ultimate source of fear in the universe, just the most dangerous, creatures that fed on and amplified all things bad and evil in the world. 

“I know... would rather that not be the case... but am worried none the less.. have asked Manny, but he is keeping quiet for now... does not seem good or bad, only like Manny doesn't know...”

“Doesn't know why Sandy is acting differently?” Tooth asked, biting her lip nervously. She had been expecting to see Sandy more now that she was getting into the field more, at least once a week since they had defeated Pitch and she had expected to run into the golden sandman more than she had, or at least see more signs of him. What dream sand she had seen had been in thin trickles here and there, bolstering good dreams instead of creating whole new ones. “It's like he's saving his strength for something.” She said, realizing it as she said it. 

“Well... is that good or bad?” Everyone turned to look at the newest guardian, Jack looking back extremely confused which while adorable, was simply enough to bring the question back around full circle. What exactly was Sandy up to at the moment, and why was he behaving differently than he had before Pitch's uprising?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter! Invasion of The Island of Sleepy Sands! 
> 
> ... Or there's confrontations, and the nightmare king is reintroduced to the other guardians while Sanderson has some explaining to do... 
> 
> I have so many plans for this...


End file.
